


Crossed Hopes

by FleuretteFfoulkes



Category: The Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy
Genre: Crossroads, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleuretteFfoulkes/pseuds/FleuretteFfoulkes
Summary: Chauvelin races in pursuit of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and doesn't even hesitate when he comes to a fork in the road.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3
Collections: Trope Bingo: Round Fifteen





	Crossed Hopes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the square "Fork in the Road" on my Trope Bingo card.

Citizen Chauvelin galloped down the forest road, leading his troop of soldiers in pursuit of the Scarlet Pimpernel's loathsome gang. They had only ten minute's head start, and Chauvelin swore to himself that those ten minutes would not be enough for them.

He had fifty men at his back. Blakeney and his motley band had seven or eight—or a dozen if one counted the aristos that he had recently stolen from the guillotine, but they were as likely to slow him down as they were to assist him in any meaningful fashion.

He almost imagined that the dust on the road ahead of him was still aloft, kicked up by the hooves of his quarries' mounts. But no, they were still too far ahead. Which was unfortunate, because they were approaching the Nantes–Paris road.

The Nantes–Paris road ran generally east and west, but it curved where it met their current road, creating a three-way intersection. One fork led west to Nantes, that beautiful riverfront city where Chauvelin had overseen plenty of drownings. Perhaps Blakeney had his yacht waiting in the Golfe de Gascogne, with arrangements already made for a smaller boat to carry them down the Loire to safety the moment they rode into Nantes.

The other fork led towards Paris. Paris was the most dangerous place of all for the Scarlet Pimpernel, these days— but might Blakeney be betting on the fact that Chauvelin would thus overlook it? It never did to overlook anything, when it came to that enigmatic brain that still sparked in that accursed head (despite all of Chauvelin's best attempts to remove said head from its accompanying body).

But Chauvelin was too wise to let all these concerns slow him down, which was why he was the only man who had ever come close to capturing the Scarlet Pimpernel. Even with twenty-five men, he would still have Blakeney's group outnumbered twice over. And so when he reached the fork, he scarcely reined his horse in. For a moment, he drew alongside his lieutenant and shouted the orders to split the company in half. In moments, half the troop was galloping off to the west, while Chauvelin led the other half east towards Paris. He had decided that Blakeney was never one to make the most obvious choice, and thus the east fork was more likely.

Besides, Blakeney needn't be heading all the way to Paris. There were several roads that split from this one and led north to the coast. The _Day Dream_ might well be waiting just offshore of the northern terminus of one of those roads, or of some smaller track that didn't even deserve the name of road.

These thoughts sustained Chauvelin through several hours' hard riding. But despite their speed, there was still no sign of their quarry. No horses were visible ahead of them; no dust hung in the air over the road, kicked up by someone who might have gone before; and whenever they hailed a convenient passerby, the man or woman always claimed no knowledge of anyone passing that way in the last hour. Finally, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, Chauvelin ordered his troop to halt and, without giving them a minute's rest, led them back west towards the town whence they had set out.

After less than an hour, Chauvelin spied a rider approaching from the opposite direction. "Citizen Chauvelin!" he called once he was within earshot. "Have you had any success?"

Chauvelin dismounted and stepped forward. "State your business, man," he growled, not wishing to state out loud that _no_ , he had yet again not captured the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"As your messenger requested, we provided every assistance to the soldiers you sent back when you split your troop in three at the crossroads. As they were leaving, he asked me to bring a message on to you, and I did so posthaste." The messenger smiled, assured that he had fulfilled all of his orders perfectly. 

There was only one problem. "I didn't send anybody back to the town, and I definitely didn't send any messengers," Chauvelin snarled. He held out a hand for the sealed message even as he felt all too certain what it must contain. He ripped it open, skimmed the line of English doggerel—Blakeney couldn't even bring himself to be original; he'd already mentioned that Chauvelin sought him here half a dozen times this year alone—and crumpled it tightly in his palm.

They must have been hiding near the crossroads, waiting for Chauvelin and his men to continue on before they doubled back. Or if Chauvelin hadn't split his troop, perhaps they would have taken whichever fork he hadn't. Blakeney had probably had half a dozen contingencies in mind, depending on what Chauvelin did.

He probably hadn't even needed any of those contingencies, because he'd probably known exactly what Chauvelin was going to do before Chauvelin even had. _Damn_ the man.

Chauvelin pointed a finger in the face of the messenger, who was still smiling as he waited for some expression of approbation. "Arrest this man," Chauvelin said vaguely in the direction of the nearest soldier, then climbed back up on his horse, his body suddenly three times as saddle-sore as before. "The Scarlet Pimpernel has escaped yet again. You're all dismissed for the day once we return to town."

He cast aside the crumpled paper, and made certain to trample it thoroughly underneath his horse's hooves as he turned to the west and began once more—now hours and hours too late—to ride in the wake of the Scarlet Pimpernel.


End file.
